


A Not-So-Covert Boyfriend

by Kryptaria



Series: Not-So-Secret After All [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dinosaurs, Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 22:47:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1619762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kryptaria/pseuds/Kryptaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the director of the American Museum of Natural History asked Steve to use some of his sketches to help the museum raise money, Steve never expected <i>this</i>.</p><p>Fortunately, Bucky is at Steve's side, ready to protect him from any threats -- even the ones that no one should have to expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Not-So-Covert Boyfriend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OceanAndSpace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OceanAndSpace/gifts).



> This was narco-written, but I swear it's not crack! It's just when Tony's involved... yeah.
> 
> Thanks to rayvanfox for the beta and shared giggles!
> 
> ~~~

The gala at the American Museum of Natural History was a success, at least financially. When the museum director had contacted Steve, he’d happily donated an entire sketchbook of art, thinking maybe it would be auctioned to raise money. He’d never expected an entire showing of his work, as if he were a real artist and not just a somewhat talented amateur. And he’d _certainly_ never expected a black-tie fundraiser.

But he’d gone along with it. Honestly, he and Bucky needed the good publicity to balance out what had happened with S.H.I.E.L.D. and HYDRA. And it had worked, too. The event had been sold out for weeks, and the online store selling prints, T-shirts, and throw pillows — which had confused Steve, because _throw pillows?_ — was already backordered.

Even as the night wound down, paparazzi were still swarming the sidewalk and the stairs up to the museum’s front entrance. Bucky, who’d been getting progressively more twitchy as the night went on, snarled and tried to inch ahead of Steve.

“It’s fine, Buck,” Steve muttered, holding Bucky’s arm even tighter. “The car’s right there.”

Bucky’s response was almost too soft for Steve to hear, but he suspected the word _grenades_ factored somewhere into Bucky’s answer.

Steve didn’t bother arguing. He just walked faster, pulling Bucky down to the black car idling at the foot of the stairs, isolated from the sparse late-night traffic by police barricades. As they reached the sidewalk, the driver got out to open the door — but not the driver they’d had on the way to the event.

Bucky actually relaxed at the sight of Natasha Romanoff, and Steve whispered, “Thank you, God.” Natasha was one of the few people Bucky trusted, unlike the hired driver who’d brought them to the museum six hours earlier.

“Natalia,” Bucky said, followed by a soft string of Russian. He kissed both her cheeks, which Steve suspected you weren’t supposed to do with your driver, but usually a driver wasn’t wearing an evening gown and heels.

She answered him with a warm smile that she then turned on Steve, saying, “I thought you boys would need an exfiltration plan.”

“I owe you one,” Steve told her, squeezing her hand.

“I’ll put it on your tab.”

There was an awkward moment when all of them reached for the door — Bucky probably to check it for explosives, Steve because he still reverted to old courtesies, and Natasha because she was just like that. They got it open without anyone catching their fingers, so it really didn’t matter. Steve didn’t want to think of the pictures the paparazzi were getting, and he winced when he realized they’d probably assume all three of them were going back to the Brooklyn town home for the night. Together.

 _Screw it,_ he thought, too tired to really care. They’d gossip no matter what. He got into the car first, since Bucky had slipped behind him, covering his back from any snipers or particularly vicious reporters. Bucky followed, and the door closed, leaving them in peaceful darkness.

“How the _hell_ do you put up with that?” Bucky asked, wrapping his arm — the left one — around Steve’s shoulders to pull him close. Steve didn’t argue. They were both too broad-shouldered to cuddle comfortably, but after a night like this, they needed it.

“It was worse in the USO days. At least now I get to wear a tux.”

“I liked your stupid costume,” Bucky muttered, inching even closer, and something rustled between them, like the sound of crumpling paper. Then he twisted a little so he could start pawing at Steve’s jacket.

“Hey! What —”

“What’s this?” Bucky’s pulled a small card out of Steve’s pocket. The corner was creased.

“Oh. Tony gave that to me while you were making sure the hall was clear of any threats.” Steve was very proud of himself for not rolling his eyes. Bucky’s concern for his safety sometimes crossed the line.

Bucky huffed and offered the card to Steve. “Dirty limerick?”

“Knowing Tony? Yeah,” Steve guessed, running a finger under the flap of the envelope.

“I’m not doing another ‘coming out’ interview. I’ll shoot Stark first.”

“You and me both, pal.” Steve pulled out the card, which was surprisingly tasteful. Cream-colored paper, _Congratulations_ embossed on the front. On the inside, Tony had scrawled, _Great job, Cap. Especially love the feathered dinos. T._

“Huh. That’s...”

“Almost disappointing?”

“Suspiciously normal.”

“Life _was_ safer when Tony and Pepper were dating,” Steve admitted. As he shoved the card back in his pocket, he elbowed something hard under Bucky’s tuxedo jacket, against his ribs. He shot Bucky a suspicious look — and Bucky pointedly avoided meeting his eyes.

“Before you say —”

“Bucky,” Steve interrupted, exasperated. He got out from under Bucky’s arm and unbuttoned his jacket, revealing a black compact Glock 26. The fact that he could recognize firearms more easily than modern cars, fashions, music, and movie stars probably said something about him.

“Nobody knows.” Bucky gave Steve an innocent smile. “I have a _metal arm_ , Steve. I can’t go through a metal detector.”

Steve couldn’t glare at that smile for more than a couple of seconds. “Didn’t you have to go through a pat-down?”

Bucky smirked and deliberately pulled Steve into his arms again. “Nobody touches me but you,” he said, silencing Steve in the most effective way possible.

Steve’s protests melted away, and he wrapped his arms around Bucky, hardly sparing a thought for whether or not Natasha was watching them through the rearview mirror. Captain America surrendered to no one — _except_ Bucky. And Steve kept doing it, again and again.

 

~~~

 

Thirty minutes later, a significantly more disheveled pair of tuxedo-wearing super-soldiers staggered out of the car. “Come up for a drink?” Steve invited Natasha, thinking he should be polite, even though all he wanted to do was get out of the tux and into bed. Or onto the couch. Or maybe the breakfast bar.

Eyes gleaming, Natasha said, “I think not even my supervision will keep you two out of trouble tonight. Try not to break the floor, boys.”

Steve tried to die of embarrassment on the spot. Bucky, bastard that he was, laughed and kissed Natasha, saying, _“Spasibo, Natalia.”_

It took Steve two tries to unlock the front door, with Bucky very much not helping. Maybe he was behind Steve to protect him from enemies on the street or rooftops, but Steve was positive bodyguards didn’t get _that_ close to their assets.

Once they were in the relative safety of their building, Steve decided it was past time he started fighting back. He got his hands in Bucky’s hair — and _God_ , he was gorgeous in a tux — and he walked backwards up the stairs, carefully feeling his way one step at a time so he didn’t have to stop kissing. By the top of the stairs, he had Bucky’s tie undone, along with three buttons, one side of his suspenders, and his waistband clasp. Ever more practical, Bucky went right for Steve’s fly, and his cool metal fingers were teasing Steve over his underwear.

The bedroom was at the top of the stairs, to the left. Steve’s back hit the wall next to it as Bucky bit that spot under Steve’s left ear, short-circuiting his brain. He distantly heard a _click_ and knew Bucky had reached out to open the bedroom door, but Steve was absolutely _fine_ with staying right here in the hall.

Bucky apparently had other plans. He licked up to Steve’s ear and tugged Steve away from the wall, whispering exactly what he wanted to do to Steve, and even though half the words were in Russian, Steve was _entirely_ onboard with Bucky’s plan —

A hard shove sent him staggering back into the hallway, followed by three rapid-fire gunshots. Muzzle flare dazzled Steve’s eyes, but he still threw himself into a roll towards the nearest weapon — a Mossberg combat shotgun Bucky had hidden in the linen closet. He ripped it from the mounting clips and aimed down the hall, into the bathroom, and down the staircase, covering Bucky’s back, before he realized the gunfire had stopped.

“What?” he asked, feeling dazed and stupid and _slow_.

Bucky’s breath came in deep rasps. He growled — a wordless, _dangerous_ sound that had Steve rushing to his side. Bucky still had his gun leveled and rock-steady, aimed into the dark bedroom.

Warily, Steve reached past Bucky to turn on the light —

And he let out a shout and a curse that would’ve made a sailor proud, because there was _a fucking dinosaur_ in the bedroom. A five-foot-tall, covered-in-feathers dinosaur, teeth bared, claws out, tail raised.

It had once been a truly magnificent replica, before the bullet holes in its chest and face.

“Steve,” Bucky said, finally lowering his Glock.

“Not —” Steve had to cough, and he bent over to set the shotgun down on the floor. He’d put it back in the closet later, when he was done staring at the dinosaur. In his bedroom. The _dinosaur in his bedroom_. “Not my idea, Buck.”

Bucky growled again. He turned and met Steve’s eyes.

And at the same moment, they both said, “Stark.”


End file.
